


The National Youth Elite

by magicknickers



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Girl on Fire Comment Ficathon, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicknickers/pseuds/magicknickers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd always know she was elite, and now she had the titles to prove it. Glimmer-fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (1/2) The National Youth Elite

**Author's Note:**

> Two-parter written for the Girl on Fire Comment Ficathon using the prompt: _**the careers** after school club au_.
> 
> Warnings for high school au (obviously), a ton of swearing, general bitchiness, and some sexual content (more implied than anything else).

“I dated him for a year,” Clove answers, flicking her blonde hair back from her face in that annoying way that she always does. “You can't go out with him.”   
  
“You didn't even have sex,” Glimmer says, popping a strip of bubblegum into her mouth. “It doesn't count.” Clove's virginity is like the fucking Holy Grail. Most of the school thinks it's a myth, and the few who believe go after it like a bunch of filthy animals.   
  
“I don't  _care_  if you think it doesn't count, Glimmer. You can't fucking go out with him! Screw around with Marvel or something.” Rolling her eyes at such an inane suggestion (Marvel is the ugliest fuck at this school, and that one time at her pool party last year doesn't fucking count), Glimmer opens the door to the school's conference room. These National Youth Elite meetings are her ticket into Harvard, not to mention the little thrill of superiority she has whenever telling anybody that she's the club's vice-president. She'd always known she was part of the elite, and now she has the titles to prove it.   
  
“Calm your tits,” she says, not bothering to hold the door open for Clove, who is merely the club's secretary, and not really a good one at that. The selfish bitch can hold her own damn door open.   
  
“You're so crass,” Clove hisses, grabbing Glimmer's forearm and digging her nails into the soft skin there hard enough to draw blood.    
  
“And you're  _such_  a lady,” Glimmer answers, shaking the other girl's grip off. The half-moons of blood on her arm are so pretty that she doesn't even get pissed. Call her kinky, but she's always liked the look of fresh blood on her skin. She likes it even better when it isn't hers.   
  
Taking the empty seat in between Cato and some blond guy that she's never seen in her life, Glimmer settles in to wait. Mr. Snow's always late to these things, and school rules dictate that they can't start without their sponsor.   
  
“Who the hell are you?” she asks the guy next to her. She blows a bubble with her gum, waiting.   
  
“Peeta Mellark,” he answers, tone surprisingly even and decidedly  _not_  nervous. A boy who has spine in her presence is a novelty, really. It's probably why she likes Cato so much.   
  
“I invited him,” Cato breaks in, throwing a brawny arm around her shoulders. Clove sends her a glare from across the table, looking as if she's about to jump across the table and strangle her. Smiling, Glimmer turns to Cato.   
  
“Why?” she asks, trying to reign in the bitchiness a little bit. Sleeping with him would really chafe Clove's ass, and most guys have trouble coping with her naturally honest personality. She'll just have to... _tame_  it for now.   
  
“He transferred from the Heights last week,” Cato informs her. “His GPA's, like, a 4.5 and he took Marvel's spot on the team yesterday.” That would explain Marvel's less-than-stellar attitude today, and why he's sulking in the chair next to Clove right now. Maybe she shouldn't have slapped him for being a dick in first block.    
  
“You're from the Heights?” Glimmer asks Peeta, taking in the paint stains on his T-shirt and the artfully messy look of his blond hair. He doesn't really  _look_  ghetto.   
  
“Yeah,” he says, and there's nothing in his voice that says he knows what she's thinking. The look in his eyes, though, leaves her a little uneasy. After a moment of simply staring at him, Glimmer decides she doesn't really like Peeta Mellark.


	2. (2/2) The National Youth Elite

“Didn't that girl—what's her name, the one with the braid all the time—transfer from the Heights? She's fucking hot,” Marvel says, breaking the awkward silence. Glimmer wrinkles her nose at the conversation topic.    
  
“Katniss Everdeen,” she and Peeta say in unison. Clove looks up from her phone, a perfectly maintained eyebrow arched questioningly. Apparently gossip is worth more than their argument.   
  
“She's on the track team,” Glimmer tells them in explanation. And every other sport aside from cheerleading.    
  
“Isn't she dating Gale Hawthorne?” Cato questions, lifting his arm from around her shoulders to rest his elbows on the table, leaning into the conversation. Snorting, Glimmer crosses her legs, making sure to brush one of them up against Cato's. Katniss Everdeen dating  _Gale Hawthorne_? The guy is a total stud.   
  
“No. She's not dating him.” This time from Peeta. The crazy look in his eye is back again, and Glimmer can't contain the little chill that goes down her spine. For shit's sake, this guy needs to fucking leave.    
  
“What? Do you like her or something?” Clove asks, finally joining the conversation. Her acrylic nails are rapping against the table quickly, almost to the point of being annoying, but not quite getting there.   
  
“Of course not,” he says too quickly, and Glimmer smiles a predatory smile.  _Gotcha_ _._  She decides to store that bit of information for later.    
  
“I'd tap that,” Marvel states, leaning back in his chair. The thought of fucking Katniss Everdeen seems to have brightened his spirits monumentally. Glimmer barely bites back a nasty comment.   
  
“Fuck yes,” Cato confirms, high-fiving Marvel from across the table. Peeta sinks further into his chair.   
  
“But she's hideous,” Glimmer finally says, unable to contain herself any longer. She'd worn freaking  _capris_ today.  _Denim_ capris, no belt. It isn't the fucking nineties. Take some pride in your personal appearance or something.    
  
Everybody ignores her but Clove, who snorts. Loudly.    
  
“You said she's on track, right?” Marvel asks. Glimmer pretends not to hear him, instead choosing to reach into her purse and pull out her compact. If this Everdeen bitch puts Plan Cato on hold, she is going to have something to fucking say about it.   
  
“Yo, Glimmer,” Cato whispers, and it's right in her ear. She almost drops her mirror. “We're trying to fucking talk to you.”    
  
“What's up?” She doesn't look up from the mirror, almost unable to tear herself from her reflection. Jesus Christ, she's gorgeous. And the fact that she can still feel Cato's lips brushing against the shell of her ear is distracting as shit.   
  
“I want a piece of that ass.” Glimmer takes back that little stab of guilt for smacking him in first block.   
  
“And  _why_ should I care who you are sexually harassing, Marvel?” There is  _n_ _o way_ in hell that she's going to help set this little idea into motion.    
  
“I'll help you,” Peeta breaks in. His voice is smooth and even and flat again. Glimmer wonders what the fuck changed between the o _f course not_ a nd this.   
  
“Awesome,” Cato grins, leaning back into his chair. He looks as if he's the one who's just been promised some tail.    
  
Clove meets eyes with her from across the table and laughs. 


End file.
